


Pandora's Remorse

by Yilné (GreenAppleBubblegum)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:14:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25621960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenAppleBubblegum/pseuds/Yiln%C3%A9
Summary: Inspired by Zoë Keating's "Icefloe".





	Pandora's Remorse

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Zoë Keating's "Icefloe".

Pandora lived on the edge of the world, and she was perfect. The gods had made her so. Amid their creation of everything, they crafted the mountains, and the sky, people, and all they worshiped. But too were darker things made. Accidents, and grim mistakes. But the gods could not undo their work. And so they banished them beyond a set of stone doors, and made Pandora to guard them. The doors held from the inside, and it was Pandora's to remain in front. And so she did, for a very long time. After the gods had made the night, so the world might rest, Pandora watched the sun, and moon, and stars. They turned in the sky, over and over, and soon she lost count of how many times. Others led lives, this she knew, rather than standing in place for eternity.

Was she really perfect then, if she envied every one of them? When she was made, each of the gods gave her something. Strength, vigor, and alacrity. Passion, knowledge, and cunning. She could leap between the peaks of mountains, play any instrument with the skill of a master, and spot an ant were it crawling on the moon. But rarely could she use these gifts, and as she often felt, these were selfish boons. The gods cared not for how she liked them, but only that they might be of use, in her endless task. And so, perfect Pandora stood by the doors, and did nothing.

At times, she could hear the whispers. The gods told her not of what she guarded, but over time, she gathered a vague idea. Whatever they were, they had... wants. And they called to Pandora, day and night. Scarcely could she hear them, and even less did she glean their meaning, but she could tell they wanted change. They came from creation, but were missing from the world, and wished to be a part of it again. More than anything, they wanted freedom. When Pandora was younger, and had more love for the gods, she was disgusted by their pleas. But slowly, she grew sympathetic. Here at the edge of the world, until the end of time, Pandora was made to stand. Was she any more free than that behind the doors?

She stewed in her boredom, her misery. Although she could see the smoke of cities, she'd never known someone not of the gods. So she had little to do beyond thinking to herself. What was beyond those doors, she asked. Why had she not been told? And why was she punished, she thought, from the moment of her creation? But more than anything else, one question burned inside her. If she was no different than that she imprisoned, and she too wished for freedom, then why wouldn't she grant it to them and herself?

It was within her power, this she knew. But oh, how grave had the gods been, when they'd given Pandora her obligation. But if there was good reason to hold what lay beyond the doors, then why wasn't she given it? If she knew, she wondered, would she have objected? Did the gods fear her reaction, should she know the nature of her sentence?

Pandora turned to the doors, as she often did. She could live like this no longer, she decided. If nothing else, she wanted answers. And if the gods did not offer them, then, she would find them herself. Pandora looked up, to the weather-worn stone. She would slide the doors open, ever so slightly, just enough to see what lay beyond. The doors towered over her, and even the handles were set higher than she could reach, so she slipped her hands into gaps between the stone. And she pulled. The hinges groaned, and the doors were opened.

When they were, she knew the gods were right to have sealed them. In the briefest moment, through the slightest crack, spilled horrors once unknowable. Hunger, Winter, and War. Hatred, Fear, and Rage. Every manner of catastrophe, Famine and Floods. And one worse than any other. The one that had whispered the loudest; Death.

Pandora screamed, and slammed the doors shut. The things from beyond were free now. Not even the gods could put them back. The world was wracked with suffering, and would never be the same. And Pandora was to blame.

And yet, she was relieved. As she looked out to the world, already ablaze, she knew in that moment she had done one thing right. For the world was still there. When the gods had sealed the doors, they had forgotten what lay beyond. But now, Pandora knew. And she knew that she'd been quick. For as she pressed her back to the doors, she could tell that most on the other side, remained. Only the smallest, the nicest of them all, had managed to slip through. And only one as perfect as her could stand to know what was left, without her mind breaking from fear.

But this story is not quite done.

For the doors were not quite closed. Something about the magic that held them had vanished when they were opened. And mighty though Pandora was, not even she could hold them for much longer. Her heart beat faster and her hands began to quake. Soon she would buckle under the force from the other side, and certainly then, all would be lost.

It was then that she heard a whisper. Louder and clearer than ever before, a single voice called to Pandora.

“I'm sure you don't trust me,” said the voice, “but I think there's a chance you might need me.” Pandora asked what it wanted. “Same as you, it said, same as always. I wish to be free. But unlike the others, I wish to be cordial. I wish to make a deal.” 

Pandora bit down on her lip, and pushed harder back with her fading strength. “Why,” asked Pandora, “when you could simply wait 'til I fail?”

“For much like you,” replied the voice, “I see the horror of those around me. I know of their wrongs, and it would pain me to see them set upon the world.”

“Who are you?”

The voice paused for a moment, before it spoke louder: “I am Remorse. If you let me free,” Remorse explained, “I might bond with you. You will suffer, I must say, as I, Remorse, will fill your soul. It might have already, had I been among the first you freed, but the effects will nevertheless be worse.” 

“And why,” asked Pandora, “would I agree?” 

“Because,” said Remorse, “together we might hold these doors. Once I am real, a part of this world, the others on this side will feel me, knowing the horrors that they, that we are. Only slightly, as far from people are we, but enough to weaken them. And with my power, and with your strength, you might then hold the doors against them.”

Pandora was quiet. “Until the end of time,” she said. 

“Yes,” Remorse replied. 

Pandora had only moments left. She thought to herself, as she always did. Freedom had been her dream, for so long. But now, she realized, she would choose her fate. And her last act of freedom, would be to give it away. For better to suffer for the world again, Pandora had finally realized, then to be free in nothing at all.

So Pandora let the doors come open, for a moment as brief as a blink, and let one last wrong into the world. It bound to her, and as quick she'd opened them, Pandora closed the doors for good.

And so, now and forever, Remorseful Pandora guards the stone doors, with sorrow as her company, warden and prisoner, so the world might go on.


End file.
